The Night of the Faded Coat of Blue
by California gal
Summary: Wherein the reapparance of an old friend of Jim's may lead to tragedy. Inspired by a Civil War song.


THE NIGHT OF THE FADED COAT OF BLUE

__

My brave lad he sleeps in his faded coat of blue,

In a lonely grave unknown lies the heart that beat so true;

He sank faint and hungry among the famished brave,

And they laid him sad and lonely within his nameless grave.

Chorus:

No more the bugle calls the weary one,

Rest noble spirit, in thy grave unknown!

I'll find you and know you among the good and true,

When a robe of white is giv'n for the faded coat of blue.

"Artemus, my friend, in my deepest gratitude for your finding this excellent restaurant, I am going to pay the tab." Jim West grinned at his partner, especially at the astonishment on Artemus's countenance. Usually the game was to see if one could trick the other into paying, not volunteering.

"Well," Artie replied, picking up his cup of coffee and holding it toward his partner, as though offering a toast, "in that case, I'm grateful for your gratitude, and accept. And I will graciously reciprocate by buying the drinks when we go across the street for a little after-dinner libation."

"Seriously," Jim said, reaching into his jacket for his wallet, "that was one of the best steaks I've had in a long, long while. You've never eaten here before, have you?"

"Nope. But it stands to reason that an eating place in the middle of Kansas, with all the corn-fed beef in the region, really ought to have good steaks. Plus the place was busy. That's another sign."

"What a detective you are!" Jim chuckled. His smile faded. "You keep looking at something behind me."

Artie sighed. "Yes, I know. There's a fellow back there, eating alone. Empty sleeve. He looks somewhat familiar to me, but I can't place him. Also, I get the sense that he knows one of us, or thinks he does, but is reluctant to approach."

Jim laid some bills on the table, and stood up, turning slightly so that he could see the man in question. "Well, I'll be!"

Without hesitation he strode across the floor, making his way among tables both empty and occupied, until he gained the one in the far corner. The man there got to his feet rather hesitantly. He was in his middle to late thirties, with dark blond hair that needed cutting and a mustache that needed trimming. His clothes also revealed lack of care, but more that they were faded and could have used some mending, rather than being soiled.

"Captain West?" he said, blue-gray eyes searching the face of the approaching man.

Jim held out his hand. "Gus Kaplan! It's been a while. Too long!"

Kaplan extended his left hand to grip Jim's right one. "Howdy, captain."

"Not a captain anymore, Gus. And you're not a private. Just Jim West. You live here now? Last I heard of you was when you went home to Michigan after your injury."

"No, sir. I'm just passing through. Wasn't aware you resided in these parts."

"I don't," Jim smiled. "Just passing through as well." He saw Kaplan's gaze move beyond him, and looked around. "Artemus, this is Gus Kaplan. He was in a Michigan artillery unit and I got to know him when we worked together setting up some pieces at Shiloh. Gus, my partner, Artemus Gordon."

"Kaplan!" Artie knew then, but he asked anyway. "Any kin to an Aaron Kaplan?"

Kaplan accepted the hand Artie extended. "He was my brother, sir. I recognize your name. You were the officer who wrote to my ma, and sent Aaron's blouse home to her."

"Yes," Artemus admitted, a little surprised with the sudden spate of sorrow he experienced over an incident that had happened such a long time ago. He had not thought of Aaron and that bloody shirt for a long, long while. "Aaron was a fine young man. One of the worst days of my life when he died."

Jim saw the sadness on his partner's face, but withheld questions for now. Incredible coincidence that Artie and Kaplan had this connection. "Gus, you said you are passing through. Where are you headed?"

"Denver. I have kin there who's holding a job for me if I can get there fast enough. Problem is, I'm having to work my way toward it and it's slow going." Kaplan smiled ruefully.

The two agents exchanged glances, and Artie spoke up. "We're on our way to Cheyenne," he said. "Why don't you ride along with us and we can drop you in Denver, no problem."

Kaplan frowned, obviously puzzled. "Drop me? You have a wagon?"

Jim chuckled. "No, Gus. A train. And we have space for a guest."

The former artillery man was shaking his head. "I don't understand. You have a whole train, all your own?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it a whole train,' actually," Artemus grinned. "But it suits us. Are you finished eating? We're going across to the saloon for a couple of drinks. Come with us, and we can talk about it."

Kaplan looked down at the few coins he had placed on his table. "Well, I I'm a little short"

"Don't worry about that," Jim chortled. "Mr. Gordon has already offered to treat."

Gus Kaplan was still somewhat reluctant, but in the end decided that he could drink a beer. He surely did want to visit with Captain West and maybe talk to Mr. Gordon about Aaron. For himself, as they crossed the street to the watering hole, Artemus hoped he could steer the conversation away from Aaron Kaplan. He did not want to discuss the details of that young soldier's death with his brother. Not right now anyway.

Turned out he was somewhat successful in directing the talk away from that subject, partially because the tavern was filled to capacity with boisterous men, and a few women, who seemed to be celebrating something. They eventually learned that the owner of the place was very popular, and today was his birthday. Everyone there was offering toasts, telling stories, singing and laughing, making for a lot of commotion.

After a couple of drinks–paid for by Artemus–the trio departed, mounted their horses and rode toward the siding where the Wanderer was parked for the night. They had seen their train crew in the saloon as well, but neither Jim nor Artie worried that those men would be derelict in their duties; they would be there to fire up the engine early in the morning to get underway.

Jim noticed the state of Gus Kaplan's horse as they rode through the moonlight. The animal was old, the tack equally ancient. Quite apparent that Kaplan had fallen on hard times, as had many a veteran in the years since the war ended. Gus had been severely injured by a Confederate shell blast, requiring the amputation of his right arm and ending his military career. The last time Jim had spoken to him had been in a hospital in Nashville where Gus had been recovering in late spring of sixty-two.

The one thing Jim remembered most about Augustus Kaplan was that he worried more about his brother than himself. Gus was a hardworking man, and received praise from his commanding officer, which was why he had been assigned to the artillery unit that Captain West guided to a vantage point he had located in the midst of the battle. Because they had had to take a roundabout and lengthy route to the site, they had conversed, which was when Jim learned about the absent brother.

Gus had wanted to know if the captain was aware whether a particular Michigan infantry regiment was on the field. Jim did not know, but promised to tell Kaplan if he heard of that troop being present. As it turned out, Jim never gained that information, but even if he had, Gus had been injured early on and taken off the field before Jim returned to the artillery's position to see if they needed any help or supplies.

Even at the hospital, Kaplan fretted less about his own disabling injury than the safety of his brother. "What am I going to tell Ma if I go home without him?" Gus had wailed. "She'll skin me alive!"

At that time in their military careers, James West and Artemus Gordon had not met. Only after the conclusion of the fierce and deadly battle of Shiloh were the pair brought together. Never once had it occurred to Jim that Artemus might be acquainted with Aaron Kaplan, even being aware that Artemus was in a Michigan regiment. What a coincidence!

Gus Kaplan was very impressed. He stated so several times, along with the awe that appeared in his expression as he looked around the parlor car. He had also been astonished regarding the quarters for the horses. "This nag ain't had accommodations like this in a long while," he said, shaking his head. "Nor food!"

Entering the parlor car, however, he was nearly speechless as he gaped. "This is like a grand hotel room! I mean, I never seen one, but I heard about them. You two musta struck it rich, huh?"

"Not exactly," Jim laughed. "It goes with our job. We'll tell you more later, but let's get you settled."

The guest compartment elicited more expressions of amazed admiration from the ex-soldier. Artemus saw how Kaplan eyed the bed, and remarked that they would not be the least bit insulted if Gus wanted to hit the hay. Like the horse, undoubtedly its rider had not enjoyed such accommodations in a long while, if ever. Kaplan hesitated, then agreed that he was pretty tired after riding all day.

Back in the parlor car, Jim poured brandy for each of them. He handed a snifter to his partner and asked, "Aaron Kaplan was in your regiment?"

"More than that," Artie sighed, sinking onto the sofa. "I was with him when he died. Wonderful young man. You never heard a bad word about him. Good-looking, always smiling, courageous, but not reckless. He was always ready to help, to volunteer. In fact, that's how he came to meet his end. It was that job I did while you were laid up after Chickamauga. Remember? I was ordered to scout some territory in east Tennessee, and I requested volunteers. Aaron was one of six."

"I do remember you talking some about it afterwards. You lost a couple of those men."

"Yes. The other man was killed in a skirmish. Another was wounded. But Aaron Jim, it was"

Artemus's words stopped and he stared into the amber liquid into his glass, obviously not seeing the brandy, but a far away place and a dying man. Jim waited. Perhaps a full minute elapsed before his partner lifted his gaze, brown eyes anguished. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but taut.

"Happened on our third day out. We were deep in the mountains, but so far as we were aware, no Rebs were in the vicinity. Which was, of course, what we wanted to learn, where they were, how many. Maybe we were all a little too relaxed, less cautious. The terrain was rough, and often we had to lead our horses. Aaron was on the point and he apparently tripped a wire. A torpedo exploded very near him, killing his horse and injuring Aaron severely."

Jim frowned. "Didn't kill him outright?"

"Not immediately. He lingered for an agonizing twenty-four hours. Jim, there was nothing that could have been done for him. The shrapnel tore up his his guts. Even the morphine I had with me didn't do much good. Perhaps because his his stomach couldn't process it. Once or twice Aaron begged us to end it for him, but we couldn't. All we could do was wait, keep him company."

"I take it the blast didn't draw any enemy soldiers."

"No. I suspect it had been set up a long time before. Perhaps weeks or months. Maybe forgotten. Aaron just happened to to be the lucky one to trip the wire. The one thing Aaron asked me to do was to remove his blouse and send it to his mother. So she would have something to remember him by. Of course it was bloody and torn, but I promised I would and I did. When he mercifully passed, we buried him there in those mountains. Once we completed the assignment, I took his shirt back to Chattanooga with me, had it washed as best could be done, then sent it to Mrs. Kaplan in Michigan with a letter."

"Did you know the Kaplans before the war?"

"No. They were in the same county, but on the far side. Apparently had a small farm there. Aaron's father died when he was a baby, I know. His mother ran the farm, with his brother's help. Aaron mentioned his brother, but I had never met him before today. That's why Kaplan looked familiar in the restaurant. Not nearly as fine-featured as Aaron, and his hair is darker, but there is a resemblance." Artemus downed the last of his brandy and sighed deeply. "I'm glad we're able to help Aaron's brother now."

Jim studied his partner for a moment. "You don't blame yourself for Aaron's death."

Artie quickly shook his head. "No. No, it could have been any one of us who tripped that wire. Aaron just happened to lead out. He often did that. If he had lived, I'm certain he would have been an officer before the war ended. He had leadership qualities. It's just well, I couldn't help but feel the world had lost a young man who might have contributed greatly in the future."

"I'm sure we lost thousands of those," Jim said quietly. "On both sides."

"Exactly. I agree, Jim. I agree. I knew other fine men who were killed. Friends and acquaintances. But Aaron if you had known him he was a special young man. He always talked about going home and helping his mother, but I had a feeling he would not have been satisfied with remaining on a scrub farm for long. We'll never know."

WWWWWWW

__

He cried, "Give me water and just a little crumb,

And my mother she will bless you for all the years to come.

Please tell my sweet sister so gentle, good, and true

That I'll meet her up in heaven in my faded coat of blue." (chorus)

The following day was fairly uneventful, as the small train made its way northeasterly across Kansas, toward Colorado. At one point, they had to pull off onto a siding to allow a larger train to pass through, but their engineer assured the agents that they would make southern Colorado by nightfall, and Denver the next day as scheduled.

Over and over, Gus Kaplan expressed his gratitude to Jim and Artie. His cousin, he said, had this position in the livery stable where he worked, a job grooming horses, something that even a one-armed man could do, but he was not sure how long he could keep it open. The owner was due back from a trip at the end of the month, Gus said, and the cousin felt he had to have filled the job by then.

"I was really scrambling, trying to earn money for food and still traveling fast enough to get to Denver by the last of the month. Got so I wasn't sure I was going to make it, with only four days left! Your offer was a godsend."

During the hours on the train, the subject of Aaron Kaplan came up, and Artemus was forced to discuss the young soldier with his brother. Artie was relieved, if a little surprised, that Gus did not want details on how Aaron died. Mostly he talked about what a beautiful baby Aaron had been, how their mother adored the boy, and had been heartbroken first when he joined the infantry without her knowledge and permission, and then, of course, to receive the news of his death.

"That blouse you sent was precious to her," Gus stated. "She kept it in her bedroom all the time, and I'm sure she held it often, feeling maybe she was holding her baby boy in her arms. She didn't ask, but I was tempted to bury it with her when she passed away. I guess I was a little selfish. I wanted some of Aaron near me, now that I was going to be all alone."

Jim listened to the conversation and found himself wondering why Gus had not resented the favored brother more than he appeared to. Perhaps that spoke to what a fine boy Aaron had been, that even his possibly neglected older brother had not been envious. Strange, though, that Gus did not ask more questions about how his beloved brother died. _Then again, perhaps he feels knowing would be too painful. Hard to say. People react differently._

As promised, the Wanderer slid onto the siding just south of the border of the Colorado Territory for the night. The crew came to the car for their supper, then disbursed to their own quarters. They were working men, and their day would start early. Jim and Artemus engaged in a chess game for awhile, but Jim could tell Artie's attention was not on the game. The clue was that Jim West was winning, a rarity at this particular competition. So he claimed boredom and found a book to read.

Artemus was relieved when Jim called off the game. He knew he should have simply said no when it was first mentioned, but he thought it might aid in taking his mind off things. Problem was, he had no idea what was bothering him. Just that something was. Something on the edge of his consciousness. He had never really been prescient, or even believed in such things, yet at this time he would have been willing to wager something unsettling was in the future.

Of course, one did not need to be a seer to realize that, given their occupation. "Unsettling" was far too mild a word for what often occurred in their lives. Yet, this gnawing sensation in his guts just told him that something was not right. He could not ascribe it to any particular thing. He began to believe that Augustus Kaplan's presence had some bearing on it, but he could not ascertain why.

He had regretted the death of Aaron Kaplan as much as he regretted the loss of any man during that awful war. Aaron's fatal injuries had been horrific, his final hours filled with pain and torture, but those same circumstances had happened to many men. Some others had not had friends around them when they succumbed, dying alone on a field while the battle raged on beyond them.

Aaron certainly had not blamed him, or anyone else. During one brief relatively pain-free moment, Aaron had even attempted a jest, chiding himself for always barging on ahead of the others. He had accepted his fate, made his last wishes known, and finally embraced that pain-free oblivion of death.

The letter Artemus had written to Mrs. Kaplan had not been the first, nor the last, he had had to write to surviving family. All had been difficult. He had even sent small mementos, usually a picture or a New Testament or some other trinket the late soldier had carried. Never before an article of clothing. He had been bothered by the knowledge that the laundress in Chattanooga had been unable to wash away all the bloodstains, then wondered if those very stains would be comforting to the grieving mother.

None of this explained why he was feeling edgy now. Perhaps it was merely having a "stranger" aboard the Wanderer. They had had guests riding with them in the past, but that had usually been another agent, even Colonel Richmond a few times–someone they knew well. Jim had admitted that his acquaintance with Gus Kaplan had been relatively brief, though he had liked the artillery man enough to seek him out in the hospital in Nashville.

Artemus thought about voicing his unease to Jim, but decided against it. For one thing, Jim tended to be quite pragmatic about such things. He played hunches, listened to his instincts, but rarely believed in "fortune telling" or sensing a future disaster. Artemus knew his partner would have just laughed it off, blaming it on the rich onion soup they had had at the midday meal. And who knew? Maybe that was the cause.

WWWWWW

__

He said, "My dear comrades, you cannot take me home,

But you'll mark my grave for mother, she'll find me if she'll come;

I fear she'll not know me, among the good and true,

When I meet her up in heav'n in my faded coat of blue." (chorus)

Jim West was mildly surprised when he stepped into the galley, not only because it was empty, but that the coffee had not been started. Not like Artemus. First thing he did in the morning was to stir up the stove and start the coffee, not to mention put on a kettle to heat water for shaving and washing up.

The stove was cold, last night's coffee still in the enamel pot, and the tea kettle all but empty. _Artie seemed a little restive last night. Could be he did not get to sleep right away, and now is making up for it. Oh well. Just will mean the coffee will be a little late, not to mention maybe not quite as good. But he'd better not complain if he's going to sleep in!_

He was just finishing putting the coffee grounds in the pot when Orrin Cobb and the other crew showed up, like himself expecting the coffee to be ready and waiting. Jim apologized. "Is Mr. Gordon sick?" Orrin asked.

That had not occurred to Jim. Artie had seemed on edge, but maybe he had also not been feeling well. It would be like Artemus not to mention it, especially with a guest on the train. "I don't know. I'll look in on him. Keep a watch on the coffeepot."

He made his way to the door of Artie's compartment, tapped on it and called his partner's name, first quietly, then a little louder. Jim frowned. Artie was known to sleep well, but he also had the same instincts Jim himself had, those of a cat, awakening instantly at any untoward sound or call. After a long moment of consideration, Jim turned the latch and pushed the door open.

He stared inside the compartment, not quite grasping what he was seeing. The blankets were mussed and Artemus's nightshirt lay in a pile on the floor beside the bed. The boots that Jim knew Artemus always placed neatly at the end of the bed were gone. The door to the wardrobe closet stood ajar.

Jim stepped over to that closet, pulling the door wide. He quickly ascertained that his partner's leather jacket was absent but his gun belt and pistol were hanging on the hook inside the door.

"What the devil?"

Unaware that he had spoken aloud, Jim spun to go back into the passageway. Without pausing or knocking, he opened the next door, that of the guest compartment. Empty as well, although the bed had not been slept in. The carpetbag that Gus Kaplan had carried onboard was still on the floor. Jim hefted the bag to the bed, opened it and rummaged through. Clothing, though not much, and all of it in similar condition to that which Kaplan had worn.

Jim strode back to the kitchen. "Orrin, when you came through the livestock car, were all of the horses there?"

The engineer's eyes widened. "Sure. We grained and watered them, same as usual. Why? What's happened?"

"Both Artemus and our visitor are gone."

The three crewmen gaped at him. Kelly spoke first. "Gone where?"

"That's what I want to know. Sam, would you saddle my horse while I get my gear ready?"

The satin black horse was waiting for him when he stepped out the rear door of the parlor car ten minutes later. A worried Orrin Cobb was there as well. "Boss, I've been looking around, and I don't see any signs. No other horses. Not even any footprints."

Jim glanced about. He had not seen much of the area in the darkness last night, and had not even tried, figuring they would be on their way first light. "If they stayed in that thick grass, any tracks would have disappeared by now."

"I was thinking that," the engineer answered unhappily. "Which way you going to go?"

Jim West expelled a breath. "I don't know. I guess I'll circle around a bit, see if I can pick up anything. Orrin, I have no idea what's going on. Artemus would not have left without telling me."

"Not of his own free will," Orrin growled.

"Yeah." That was the crux of the matter. Why would Gus have taken Artie off the train? Certainly the two men had departed together. Why?

He swung into the saddle. "Keep the train here on this siding," he told his engineer. "One of you stay in the car with the telegraph at all times. If I get near wires, I'll contact you."

"Or maybe he will," Orrin offered.

"Maybe," Jim agreed. His instincts told him otherwise. One possibility was that Gus Kaplan had kidnapped Artemus Gordon, hoping to receive ransom. In their conversations, they had told Kaplan of their government jobs, so he knew that the luxurious train was not a sign of their own wealth. Furman Crotty had once claimed to have demanded a ransom for the agents. But Gus Kaplan was no Furman Crotty.

__

What's going on?

WWWWWW

Artemus Gordon sank wearily, almost gratefully, onto the large boulder. He had no idea of the distance they had walked, but he knew it had consumed over six hours, since just before midnight, and he was exhausted. He had been awakened by the touch of hard, cold metal against his temple, only to look up into the hate-filled face of Augustus Kaplan, illuminated by the rays of the moon filtering through the small window in the compartment.

His first thought had been that Kaplan was either sleepwalking or playing some sort of joke. But the growled commands to get out of bed and dress were not those of a somnambulist nor a prankster. Kaplan had warned him to be silent, because if Captain West was roused, much as Kaplan would regret it, he would kill Gordon's partner. The moment he was aware that Captain West was in the passageway, Kaplan whispered, he would shoot through the door.

Artie looked up at his captor, who was peering through some brush in the direction from which they had just come. Although the moon had been full, they had really not been able to see much as they trudged across the prairie during the early morning hours. Now they were at the edge of the foothills, with the sun on the horizon, and Artie suspected that because they had ascended a long slope, Kaplan had a pretty good view of what they had left behind them.

Kaplan held the pistol pointed in his prisoner's direction as he looked through the brush, glancing back toward Gordon every few seconds. Finally he seemed satisfied that no one was imminently trailing them, and he turned around.

"Kaplan," Artie began.

But just as had occurred several times during the night, his captor hissed "Shut up," and pointed the gun menacingly. "I don't want to hear nothin' out of you, Gordon. Justice is slow at times, but it's caught up with you. Get on your feet."

Warily Artie rose, wondering if this was it. Had Kaplan marched him all these miles to simply shoot him down now? That was quickly answered as Kaplan waved the gun with a curt, "Move, that way," indicating a pile of boulders some forty or fifty feet ahead.

As he had during the entire walk, Kaplan stayed well back, not giving his prisoner an opportunity to attempt to disarm him. Kaplan obviously knew he would be at a disadvantage in any tussle, and was not going to risk it.

__

This has to have something to do with Aaron. Has to. But Artemus had not been able to elicit any information during the night, always receiving the command to keep quiet or shut up. They had not seen a sign of a living soul, but Kaplan might have feared sounds would carry across the wide open areas they were traversing.

No one could have been more surprised than Artemus Gordon when they passed through a small corridor created by two great rocks to find a pair of horses grazing beside a small spring. Saddled horses, though the girths were slack. Kaplan briskly ordered his prisoner to tighten those straps, and then he carefully checked them, keeping a wary eye on Artemus as he had to use his one hand, tucking the pistol briefly under his arm, to inspect the tautness. Again. Artemus was ordered to stand some distance away. No chance to jump Kaplan.

"Open up the saddlebag on the paint and get those chains out," Kaplan ordered, stepping away from the horses.

A cold lump in his stomach, Artie did as ordered, finding a set of manacles connected by a heavy chain. They looked to him to be similar to what were used on prisoners in chain gangs. Under Kaplan's orders, he fastened a manacle to each of his wrists. He was then commanded to tie the pinto's reins securely to a scraggly but strong appearing evergreen tree growing next to the spring.

"Get in the saddle," Kaplan ordered. "Don't try nothing stupid, neither, Captain Gordon. I don't want to kill you yet, but by heaven, I will. I won't be cheated."

Artie did as commanded, still aware of the murderous hatred in Kaplan's blue-gray eyes. He did not fully understand it yet, but Kaplan wanted him dead. The longer that moment could be delayed, the better. As long as he was alive, the chances of being rescued remained, not to mention that an opportunity might arise to allow him to overpower his captor.

Again Kaplan tucked the pistol under his arm, swiftly pulling a heavy cord out of his coat pocket. Before Artemus realized what was happening, Kaplan looped the cord over the stirrup and boot, and tightened it, securing his boot to the stirrup. He stepped around and repeated the action on the other stirrup.

__

He's got this well-planned. Every movement choreographed. He had these horses waiting, with the manacles the cord in his pocket. And it's all working out the way he wants. But why? Why?

Further proof of Kaplan's planning and preparedness ensued, as he procured a length of rope from the other horse, a bay, a loop in one end, which he tossed over Artemus's head, letting it settle around his neck, whereupon he jerked it tight. Then he loosened the pinto's reins from the scrub tree and mounted the bay, tying the other end of the rope around his own saddlehorn.

"Now, Captain, I expect you'll think twice about trying some smart-aleck trick like goading your horse to run off. Try it, and you'll likely break your neck–or at least be choked to death."

"Where are we going?" Artie asked quietly as Kaplan started his horse moving.

"To your grave, Captain Gordon. To your grave."

WWWWWW

Jim West was frustrated. More frustrated than he had been in a long, long while. He knew part of the story: Artemus Gordon and Augustus Kaplan had left the train together, quite probably on foot. The aggravating part was that he did not know why, and he did not know where they had gone.

They had at least a six-hour head start, he was certain. Presuming that Gus had forced Artie off the train, he would have waited a couple of hours after everyone had retired to ensure that all were settled and asleep. That would have put their departure time somewhere around midnight. Their absence had been noted an hour or so after dawn.

__

Has to be connected to Aaron Kaplan's death. Has to be. But how? Jim knew his partner had not lied about the circumstances of the young soldier's death. Why would Gus attach any blame to his brother's captain? Seven men had gone on that patrol, five returned. Four other men could have told Gus the story, backed up Gordon's version. Why would Gus Kaplan believe otherwise?

__

First things first. Find them. Find them before Artie is hurt. That was paramount in his thoughts, and thus far he had hit one blind alley after another. If a broad prairie, sweeping toward the Colorado foothills, could be called an alley. Jim had ridden in concentric circles around the siding, ever broadening, his eyes fastened to the ground, looking for a sign and finding nothing. As he had told Cobb, the deep prairie grass would disguise the footprints of two men. Had they been on horseback, it might have been different. But they were on foot.

He kept looking toward the hills in the distance. Intuition told him that's where they had gone, yet he did not want to rush headlong in that direction without some sort of clue. He could spend hours in those hills, only to learn that Kaplan had gone the opposite direction. Jim also knew that he was going to have to make some sort of definite move before long. The sun was already halfway towards its zenith, and warming on this May day. He had water, but no food with him. The more time that elapsed, the worse Artemus's chances might be.

Spotting a small grove of trees, Jim West headed for it. The trees likely meant water, and he had best allow the black horse to drink whenever possible, not knowing where the next might be found. Perhaps because the breeze was blowing toward him, across the wooded area, his horse apparently caught a scent, and whickered softly.

That was all Jim West needed. He dismounted quickly, speaking a quiet word to his horse, who remained behind as his master sprinted toward the trees, gun in hand. Something or someone was within those trees. Could it be Kaplan and Artie? Even as he hoped he would find the two men, Jim realized that would not likely be the case. Much too obvious. The worst would be if this was where Kaplan left Artemus Gordon behind.

Reaching the first trees, Jim narrowed his body to stand behind one, senses alert. At first he heard nothing, but then plainly the snort of a horse, probably after getting water in its muzzle. Ducking low, the agent moved to the next tree inward, and then the next, gun at the ready. At the third tree, benefiting also from a stand of some heavy brush, Jim paused and peered through.

He saw a handsome sorrel at the small pool of water. A saddled horse. But no sign of its rider. And no one else. No corpse sprawled at the water's side. That was small relief. But whose mount was this? He stepped cautiously out into the cleared area.

"Drop that gun and raise your hands, mister."

Jim West sighed inwardly. The voice, at least, was not that of Gus Kaplan. He had been so intent on reaching the interior of the copse he had not considered that anyone might be watching him approach. Perhaps the sorrel had responded to the black's whicker, the sound muffled by the trees or covered by the sloughing breeze across the grasses, alerting its owner just as the black had alerted Jim West.

He dropped the gun, conscious of the sleeve gun against his forearm, as he lifted his hands to shoulder height and turned slowly. He almost cried out in relief when he saw the man a dozen feet away. A wiry young man in denim trousers, plaid shirt and cowhide vest with a shiny star pinned to that vest. He also held a rifle in both hands, pointing directly at Jim West.

"Sheriff," Jim began.

"Deputy sheriff," the young man corrected, moving forward slowly and warily. "What are you doing here? I've been watching you for better than an hour. What–or who–are you looking for?"

Jim experienced some chagrin. _Better than an hour?_ _And I didn't spot him?_ "I'm looking for my partner," he said aloud, "and the man who kidnapped him."

The deputy frowned. He was probably in his mid twenties, a good looking chap with a strong jaw line and sandy hair under a battered and stained hat. "Your partner? Kidnapped? Who are you?"

"My name is James West," Jim began. "My partner"

"West! The secret service agent?" The deputy's eyes widened.

"Yes. My partner, Artemus Gordon, was kidnapped off our train last night. I've been trying to pick up their trail."

The rifle lowered now. "I'm sorry, Mr. West, but we have had some rustling problems in this area, and so I'm naturally suspicious. I'm Glenn Egan, deputy sheriff of this county. Anything I can do to help?"

"If you've seen a one-armed man this morning, in the company of a brown-haired man, late thirties, brown eyes. He'd be wearing a leather jacket."

Egan's blue eyes narrowed. "No. That is to say, not recently."

"What does that mean?"

"Two, maybe three weeks back, a one-armed man was in the area. Kind of dirty blond hair and mustache. He was asking a lot of questions about this region."

"You talked to him?"

"No, which is one reason why the sheriff and I got interested in him. Many folks–honest folks–when they are seeking information, will go to the local law. This fellow went out of his way to avoid talking to us. I spoke to a few that I knew he approached to find out what he wanted. They said he was asking about the Devil's Corral up there, in the foothills. Wanting to know who owned it, was there water, anyone living up there."

Jim suppressed the surge of excitement he was experiencing. "That sounds about right. You know your way around up there?"

Egan laughed shortly. "I don't think anyone does. I'm told there is water, a few small springs, up there. But mostly it earns its name of Devil's Corral. Dry as a bone, like a maze in some respects. Legends say men have wandered in there, never to be seen again. Supposed to be haunted by those wandering, lost souls."

"But you've been in there."

"Yeah," the deputy admitted. "It's an area where horse thieves and various sundry lawbreakers like to hide in. I guess if you don't go too deep, and maybe mark your trail, it's possible to not get lost. I never went alone, but I've been on a couple of posses that went into the rocks."

"Find your man?"

"Nope. Not alive. Bones have been found that we reckon belonged to one of the men we chased."

"Well, I guess I'm going in. I have a strong feeling that's where my partner is."

"If you want company, Mr. West, I'm game. I'm not sure how much help I'll be."

"I'd welcome your company, Mr. Egan. Two sets of eyes and ears are always better than one. I have no idea what I'm getting into. As far as I know, one man took my partner, but he could have met friends."

Jim whistled for the black and allowed the mount to drink his fill at the spring while he briefly told the deputy the story. Egan listened quietly, not speaking until Jim's narrative ceased. Jim liked that. Other men would have been breaking in with questions.

"And no idea why this Kaplan took Mr. Gordon?"

"A suspicion, that's all. He must somehow blame Artemus for his brother's death. I can't figure out why he would, but stranger things have happened."

"That's the truth," Glenn Egan replied. "I've seen it more than once." He swung up into the saddle. "Really strange, though, that this Kaplan would take Mr. Gordon such a long distance. Being one-armed, you'd think he wouldn't want to risk being jumped."

"I know. Makes me think he's got ugly plans. Plans I don't even want to consider. I just want to get there before he has opportunity to carry them out."

WWWWWW

__

Long, long years have passed, and though he comes no more,

Yet my heart will startling beat with each footfall at my door.

I gaze o'er the hill where he waved his last adieu,

But no gallant lad I see in his faded coat of blue. (chorus)

Artie watched as Kaplan dismounted, sitting quietly. He hoped that by being compliant he would cause Kaplan to let down his guard. Thus far that had not happened. Even now Kaplan evinced no signs of becoming less wary as he dropped the reins of his horse, but did not attempt to untie the rope that was still fastened to Artemus's neck from his saddle.

They had ridden up into the rocky area which Kaplan had tersely told him was known locally as the Devil's Corral. Artemus had attempted to find out if Kaplan had ever resided in this area, but got no response. He certainly appeared to know his way around. At least he had ridden directly toward this particular spot.

After leaving the spring where they picked up the horses, the entire rock and boulder strewn area appeared dry as a bone, or so it had seemed until they passed between still more massive stones to come into the small closed-in spot where they now were. A trickle of water flowed down a trough hewn from the rock over the eons, apparently emanating from a hidden spring, then forming a pool about three feet across at the base of the rock. Similar to the area of the other spring, a couple of scrubby but hardy pines grew alongside the water. The way Kaplan quickly knelt and cupped his hand to bring water to his mouth convinced Artie that he had been here before. Drinking strange water was not a smart thing to do.

Kaplan got to his feet, turning to look up at Artemus, still mounted. "What do you think, Captain Gordon? Will this do as your last resting place?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not much. No more choice than Aaron had. Just like him, you're going to die slow and painful, and your bones are going to rot where no one can find them."

"I hope you plan to tell me why." Artemus kept his voice quiet, though his insides were churning under Kaplan's hateful stare.

"You _know _why!" Gus Kaplan shouted. "You know why! You killed my brother!"

Aware by the madness he saw in the other man's eyes that anything he said would be useless, Artie spoke anyway. "A Reb booby-trap killed Aaron. A buried torpedo, set off by a tripwire."

"That's what wounded him," Kaplan raged. "But you killed him. I know you did." He lifted the pistol and pointed it straight at his prisoner's head. "Now, slow and easy, you lift your hands and take the noose off your neck. I have plans for you to die slow, but if I need to, I'll shoot you dead if you make a false move."

Artie obeyed carefully, knowing Kaplan meant exactly what he said. Again, Gus stayed well away, not providing any opportunity to be jumped. After the noose fell to the ground, Artemus was instructed to loosen the cords that secured his feet to the stirrups, and finally, to dismount.

The next command surprised Gordon somewhat. He was ordered to lay face down on the ground, and in a particular spot, with his manacled arms extended out toward the spring. Kaplan stepped over to his horse, picked up the noose which was still fastened to the saddle on his horse, and slipped it around Artie's boots, jerking it tight. Moments later Artie understood the purpose of these actions, as Kaplan produced an iron spike, similar to a railroad spike, along with a heavy hammer, both of which he had apparently secreted among the rocks nearby.

Awkwardly keeping his pistol in his hand while he also gripped the hammer, Kaplan placed the point of the spike into one of the middle links of the chain between Artie's wrists, and gave it a couple of hard blows, sinking it into the hard rock. Then he put the pistol aside and put his weight behind the blows, driving the spike deeper and deeper.

Then he stepped back, picking up the pistol again, perspiration running down his face as he grinned. "I thought about this long and hard, Captain. I considered gut-shooting you, and watching you die. But I figured while that would be painful, it would too fast. I want you to have a long, long while to think about what you did, to regret it. You can beg for mercy too, just like Aaron did. I'll laugh, just like you did."

Artie lifted his head slightly. "What are you talking about?"

Gus jammed the pistol into his waistband, now that his prisoner was secured and helpless, as he dropped to his haunches. "I know the truth, Gordon. I searched and searched until I found the man who would tell me the truth."

"What is the truth? And who told it to you?" Artie was already aware of the noon-high sun beating down on his head. He also realized Kaplan's strategy. Even if and when the rope was removed from his boots to allow him to shift his position around the stake, he would not be able to do more than dip his toes in that tantalizing water, just feet away. The stake and the chains would prevent him from reaching that cool, sweet, moist. _Stop it, Artemus. Thinking about it only makes it worse._

"My brother was everything to me, captain. From the time he was a baby, Ma told me I was to watch out for him. Aaron was precious. He was perfect. That's what she told me. It was my job to take care of him. I tried. God knows I tried. But we wasn't making a living on the farm, and I had to go get a job down in Indiana. Ma didn't want me to, but I had to or we was goin' to starve, maybe lose the farm. Aaron was old enough to stay home and look after things, coming on to being a man. That's where I was when the war broke out. I went home, lickety-split, figuring to join a local regiment.

"But when I got home, Ma told me Aaron had joined a regiment. She told me to go take his place. Better I got kilt than him. I knew she was right, so I headed out and talked to the colonel. He wouldn't hear of it. Aaron was of age, an' he'd signed the papers. He told me that they were full up, too, no room for me. I found Aaron, tried to convince him to let me step into his stead. But he was such a noble lad. You know about that. That's why you were so jealous of him. You knew the men liked him better!"

Artie bit his lip to prevent himself from speaking. Nothing he could say at this point would make a difference.

"I went home and told Ma and she grabbed the switch and took it to me. I know she was right. It was my fault. All my fault. I always knew I wasn't worth a quarter of Aaron. He had those golden curls, and the big blue eyes, blue as the sky. You remember? Everyone liked Aaron. He could do anything he set his mind to. Smartest boy in school, best base ball player anything he set his mind to. I stayed home and tended the farm so that Aaron could get his schoolin', on account of he was so good at it, and I wasn't.

"Well, not having no experience about such things, I looked for another regiment, and came across one down near Detroit, forming to be artillery. I figured that all the Michigan troops would stay together and I'd be able to watch out for my brother. First thing I know, we was hundreds of miles apart! I didn't know what to do. I couldn't desert. Aaron had said that's what it would be like he was doing if he left his regiment. I knew he wouldn't stand for me doing It neither. I didn't want to shame him.

"So I just stayed with my regiment and kept watching for Aaron's troops. Asking folks. You know? Always asking. Where's the Ninth Michigan, I asked. Do you know Aaron Kaplan? But nobody knew. Nobody would tell me. I was going near out of my mind. Then I met Captain West. Fine a fellow as ever there was. He promised to help me. I know he would have. I don't know how a man like that got mixed up with scum like you. If I hadn't gotten hurt, I am sure Captain West would have helped me track Aaron down. I would have gotten him away from you."

Artemus could not remain silent any longer. "Just what is it you think I did to your brother, Kaplan?"

Gus Kaplan jumped to his feet, but leaned toward his prisoner. "I know what you did, and so do you! Corporal Maltby told me the truth! He was the only one who would. I found the other men, the two that survived the war, and they lied. All lies! I knew it was lies!"

"George Maltby," Artie said quietly. "Oh yes, I'm sure he would give you the unvarnished truth. Especially after I was instrumental in having him cashiered for thievery and cowardice in the face of the enemy." _He told you what you wanted to hear, Gus, so you accepted it as the gospel truth._

"He said you would say that," Kaplan smirked. "He said that you didn't like that he was Aaron's friend. You were jealous of Aaron, Maltby said. When my brother got hurt, you wouldn't do nothing for him, and you just let him die."

"Did Corporal Maltby describe Aaron's injuries, how it happened?"

"Sure he did. You sent Aaron ahead into a place you knew was rigged with torpedoes, letting him get himself blowed up, saving your skin. But Maltby says Aaron's injuries weren't that bad, that if you'd let him and another man take Aaron back to a nearby town where there was a doctor"

Artie shook his head. "We weren't anywhere near a town. No doctor within fifty miles, if not more. Aaron's injuries were fatal. We all saw that. Even he knew it, right from the start. I'm only sorry he lingered, and suffered. It would have been much more merciful if he had died right off, or at least been unconscious!"

"Liar!" Kaplan's booted foot headed right for Artemus's head, Artie jerked back, so that only the toe grazed his temple, slightly stunning him, but it could have been much worse. "You're a liar! You killed my brother! I didn't kill him, you did!"

__

There it is, Artemus. He obviously, deep inside, blames himself, or perhaps their mother did. Nearly ten years of grief has destroyed his reason. Question now was, should you continue to try to reason with Kaplan? The kick argued against that._ Yet, I can't simply lie here and wait to die. Jim will be looking for me, but how will he find me? _Not only the several hours' head start but the method of travel would stymie attempts to track them.

Although the agents had traveled through this general area on several occasions, that had nearly always been via the train. Perhaps once they came through the region on horseback, but Artemus was certain they had never come near this godforsaken area Kaplan referred to as the Devil's Corral. They would have had no reason to do so.

Kaplan had been standing up, breathing heavily. Now he turned to kneel by the water again, drinking deeply from his cupped hand. When he stood again, he was still cupping his hand, water dripped through his fingers. "Look at this, Gordon. Nice cold water. As sweet tastin' water as I ever knowed. It's right there. It's always going to be right there. You'll see it sparkling in the sunshine, you'll hear it gurgling at night. But you can't get to it. You can just lay there, waiting to die, and regretting the day you murdered my brother."

"I did not kill Aaron. I could go over the circumstances step by step, but you would not believe me, so I won't bother."

"You're damn right I won't believe you! I know the truth! I sought the truth, and I found it. Ma will rest easy now. So will Aaron, in his lonely grave. You even buried him where he'd never be found, didn't you? You didn't want no one to find his body and maybe see that his wounds weren't that bad. And you sure didn't want his mama and me to find him, take him back to Michigan for a proper burial."

"Gus," Artemus struggled to keep his voice even, "after the war I went back to those hills and tried to find that grave. I spent nearly a week in those woods. But it had all grown over and I was unsuccessful."

"You sure are one practiced liar, Gordon. Maybe it's no wonder you fooled Captain West for so long. But he's sure going to know the truth now."

"You're going to tell him?"

"I'm going to write him a long letter."

"I take it you don't have the guts to face him."

Kaplan's face flushed. "I figure he'd rather learn about you in private. Man don't like the world to know how he was deceived."

Artemus laid his head down on his arm, his neck weary from stretching to look up at Kaplan. _Talking to him is fruitless. Yet I've got to keep him here. The longer he's here, the better the chance Jim will find us. Kaplan no doubt will try to erase any signs when he leaves. Let's try another tactic._

He lifted his head again. "You must have been planning this for awhile."

Kaplan grinned proudly. "Started thinking about it around the time you sent that faded, bloodstained blouse to Ma. All she could think about was holding onto that blouse. She talked to it! Wouldn't talk to me half the time, but she'd talk to that old shirt! Sometimes I felt like grabbing it and throwing it in the fire."

"But you didn't."

"Ma would have switched me," Kaplan replied, not seeming to comprehend the ludicrous idea that his mother could have whipped a grown man. "I didn't put it in her coffin with her, neither. She was gone, and she couldn't beat me no more. So I held it. Kept it under my coat at the services, so she could see that I was disobeying her."

"So she did ask to have it buried with her."

"Sure she did! Her little Aaron, would always be with her! Never no thought about me, the one who was doing all the work to put food on her table. And me with just one arm! So I kept the blouse, and I got it now." Kaplan went to the bay, opened the saddlebag and pulled out a bundle of faded blue cloth. " Know what I'm going to do with it?" He shook it out, holding it at arms' length toward his prisoner.

"Tell me." _I never thought I'd see that shirt again. The stains are still visible_

"I'm gonna lay it over there on that rock, right where you can see it. You and Aaron, always together. Fittin', ain't it? You killed him, and now he can watch you die. I expect he's smiling." He moved closer to Artemus, dropping down again, clutching the shirt in his hand.

"I doubt that."

Kaplan stiffened. "What makes you say that?"

"Because Aaron was a generous, compassionate man. I saw him give water to more than one injured Confederate on the battlefield, while they waited for medical attention. He said they might be the enemy, but they were human beings, and God's creatures. He couldn't stand to see them suffer. That made it doubly hard to watch him suffer as he did. I only wish I had had the courage to respect his wishes and end it for him."

Gus Kaplan gaped at him. "You would have shot him?"

"As I said, I didn't have the courage. Nor did any of our companions. We could only sit there and weep as he suffered, and thank the good Lord when that suffering ended."

For a long minute Kaplan continued to stare at his prisoner, eyes narrowing. Then he jumped to his feet, pacing around the enclosed area as he talked, almost as though talking to himself. "I knew I had to do something. I knew I had to find the man who was responsible for Aaron's goin' off to war and dyin'. It wasn't me. No matter what Ma said, it wasn't me! So I started looking into it. Sold the farm to have money to travel around and talk to people. Finally tracked down the men who were in that patrol."

"Why didn't you come to me, Gus?"

Kaplan appeared to not hear him, continuing in almost a monotone. "I talked to Stuart and Gzdich, and they told lies. I knew they were lying. Had to be lies. Then Maltby, he told me the story. Gordon killed your brother,' Maltby said. He was jealous of Aaron. Everyone knew that.' And I knew that had to be the truth. So I started laying my plans.

"Took me a long while. Years. Years, Gordon. But I knew I had to do it right. I found out where you were, what you were doing, and I started watching you. Oh, not always followin' where you or Captain West might spot me. I read the newspapers. I did sit in on a couple of trials where you two were testifying. Stayed in the back so as you wouldn't notice. Couldn't do that often, but I wanted to see you. I wanted to know the man who killed Aaron.

"Then not long ago I heard that the two of you would be going up to Cheyenne to attend a hearing. I knew when you'd be leaving Kansas City. Wasn't hard to find out, you know. I got friends in the railroad yards, on account of I worked there some. They didn't mind talking about the famous men they seen in the yards, how they helped getting your train out onto the road. I also figured out where your train would be stopping each night, and I planted myself in that town. Saw you go into the restaurant. I came in the back way, stayed behind Captain West so he wouldn't spot me right off. And it all worked out perfect, didn't it?"

Now Kaplan paused in front of Artie to gloat. "Perfect. I knew that once I told my story I'd get an offer of a free ride. If you didn't do it, I knew Captain West would. He's got a kind heart, that man. So there I was, just where I wanted to be. I also knew you'd be pulling off on that other siding last night, before heading into Denver. Absolutely perfect."

"You seem to care a great deal about Jim West's feelings," Artemus spoke dryly. "Does it occur to you that he's going to be coming after you?"

"Oh, he won't. Not once he gets the letter. He'll understand. I know him. Better'n you do, I'd wager. He'll be sorry he ever knowed you once he hears what you did."

"What did he do, Gus?"

The heads of both prisoner and captor swiveled around toward the unexpected voice. Jim West stood just inside the narrow opening. The first thing Artemus noticed was that his pistol was holstered. "Jim!"

"Captain West!" Kaplan croaked. "How did you get here?"

Jim smiled slightly. "Your trail wasn't hard to follow in this maze, Gus. I figured you wanted me to find you."

Gus Kaplan shook his head slowly, the faded military shirt sliding to the dust as his hand dipped down to his waist to come up with the gun. "No. You aren't supposed to be here. You aren't supposed to know. Not yet!"

Jim barely glanced at his prone partner as he moved forward slightly. No mystery about what Kaplan had planned for Artemus. A slow and lingering death from thirst and the boiling sun. "You sure you weren't waiting for me, Gus? That trail was so plain"

"No, no, no, captain," Kaplan protested, taking a couple of steps back. "You ain't supposed to know about this till it's over."

"Till what's over, Gus? What's going on here? Why did you take my partner off the train in the dead of night?"

"He killed Aaron, captain. You didn't know that, did you? He's the lowdown coward what killed my brother!"

"What makes you say that?" Jim asked mildly, now edging toward the spring. As he hoped, Kaplan moved to keep him in sight, the pistol in his hand aimed right at Jim's midsection.

"Because it's true! I got the truth, Captain West. Gordon can tell you. I searched and searched until I got the truth. Now Gordon has to die."

"Seems to me if he committed a crime, it would be up to me to arrest him."

"No, that won't do. I have to take care of it myself. I have to get revenge on the man who killed my brother."

"What if you're wrong?"

Artemus watched his partner, quite aware that Jim was up to something, but he could not guess what that something was. Why did he not enter with his gun drawn? He could have gotten the drop on Kaplan easily. Now Gus Kaplan had the advantage. Most out of character for Jim West.

"I ain't wrong," Gus insisted. "I got me the truth from a man who was there. The others lied, but this fellow told me the whole story."

"Not if he didn't tell you I was there."

Gus Kaplan gawked. "What?"

"That's right, Gus. I wasn't supposed to be on that patrol, and it's not on the official records. But I joined up with the party and I was there when Aaron died. In fact, I'm the one who sent him out on the point, told him to hurry. Likely why he wasn't cautious and tripped that wire."

Now even Artemus Gordon stared. What in the devil was Jim trying to do? Why was he goading Kaplan? Did he realize he was facing a demented man? Gus Kaplan was living in an unreal world, one he had created to absolve himself from the perceived guilt for his brother's death, guilt foisted on him by a mother who apparently put pressure on the elder brother almost from the time of Aaron's birth.

"You're lying!" Kaplan screeched, the gun in his hand lifting. "You wasn't there!"

"Ask Captain Gordon," Jim replied mildly.

Gus took one quick glance at his prisoner. "You couldn't do nothing like that, captain. You wouldn't hurt my Aaron." Kaplan's tone held a note of pleading.

Jim shrugged. "I didn't like him. One of those all-too-perfect fellows. I expect you saw that, Gus. Must have been tiresome, living with a brother like Aaron. He couldn't do anything wrong, you couldn't do anything right. Correct? And your mother, even after Aaron was dead, she wouldn't let him go. Couldn't see that she still had a good son."

"You're lying." This time Kaplan's voice was lower, less adamant.

"I was there, Gus. Captain Gordon wanted to abandon the mission and take your brother back to a doctor. I wouldn't allow it. The mission was more important than one man–even a perfect man like Aaron." Jim took another step, angling toward the spring, but also forcing Kaplan to move backwards slightly.

__

Jim, you fool! What are you doing? Artemus could do nothing but lay quietly, fettered by the chains on his wrists and the rope that was still around his boots. He could not even twist around to try to trip up Kaplan. But he also recognized that his partner's movements had a purpose. What? What was he attempting to do?

"Captain West, you wouldn't never do such a thing. I know you wouldn't. You said you would help me find Aaron after Shiloh. You said you would." Gus was pleading now.

Jim shrugged. "I guess I did say that. Doesn't mean anything. You were hurt. I wanted to make you feel better. I didn't know Aaron at the time. Once I met him, I couldn't stand him. Spoiled brat. Knew how perfect he was and wanted everyone to know about it."

"That's not so! Aaron was good! He was!"

"But you hated him anyway," Jim smiled. "Think of what your life might have been like had he never been born. He was your mother's favorite, her angel. You couldn't live up to that."

Gus's lower lip trembled for a moment, but he caught himself. "I'm going to have to kill you too, Captain West. I don't want to. I know you're lying about Aaron. You have to be. I know you're a better man than that."

"Not every man is as perfect as Aaron was, Gus. I was jealous of him, just like you were."

"I wasn't jealous! He was my brother! I loved him!" Gus Kaplan shouted the words, bringing the pistol up and cocking the hammer.

"Hey!"

For the second time, both Kaplan and Gordon jerked their heads around at a new voice. This time it emanated from above. A young man Artemus had never seen before was standing on the rock above the spring, a badge gleaming on his chest. Gus Kaplan swung around, pointing his pistol toward the newcomer.

Jim West moved then, leaping forward to grab Kaplan by the shoulders and forcing him to the ground. The gun in Gus's hand went off, but the bullet went harmlessly into the spring. Gus shrieked in rage, and that rage gave him strength. He twisted away from Jim's grasp, diving for the gun that had fallen from his grip.

By then Glenn Egan had scampered down from the rock to lend a hand. Between the two men, Kaplan was subdued and his one arm lashed to his side. It was also necessary to tie his legs because he would not remain quiet, sobbing and yelling, cursing and begging. The main gist of his words were that Captain Gordon had to die so everyone would know that Gus Kaplan was not responsible for his brother's death. Someone had to tell Ma the truth. Ma had to understand.

After searching Kaplan's pockets and saddlebags, finding no key, they quickly realized that the quickest way to free Artemus was to pick the lock on the cuffs. Artemus saw the bemused expression on the young deputy's face as Jim West efficiently performed the task. As Jim helped Artie to his feet, he introduced the two men.

"Jim," Artemus said then, "what in the world were you doing, walking in here with your gun holstered? You were facing a madman!"

"I know. I heard quite a bit of what Gus was saying. I was hiding back there in the passage way, giving Glenn time to circle around and climb up on that rock. I feared that if I dashed in, gun drawn, Gus might decide to shoot you, Artie. I was unable to see him clearly without exposing myself, and was unsure if he was holding his pistol. I figured the best thing to do was to keep him talking and distracted."

Artie looked at the man now sitting on the ground, muttering and mumbling to himself, shaking his head and rocking back and forth. "You surely did that. He had you up on a pedestal, Jim, pretty much alongside Aaron. Even though I think he actually despised Aaron, and maybe his mother too. Poor fellow. What he must have gone through, his entire life. Aaron was a good man, don't get me wrong. But for Gus to have to live up to a brother like that" Artemus shook his head, stepping over to reach down and pick up the faded blue blouse out of the dust.

"I expect there's a hospital that will take care of him now," Jim said quietly.

__

No sweet voice was there, breathing soft a mother's prayer,

But there's One who takes the brave and the true in tender care.

No stone marks the sod o'er my lad so brave and true,

In his lonely grave he sleeps in his faded coat of blue. (chorus)

Chorus:

No more the bugle calls the weary one,

Rest noble spirit, in thy grave unknown!

I'll find you and know you among the good and true,

When a robe of white is giv'n for the faded coat of blue.

I first heard the song "Faded Coat of Blue" on a DVD collection of Carter Family performances recorded in the 1930s. I realized from the lyrics it must be a Civil War song. However, not until I was shelving my Civil War collection of books after moving to a new home, when I came across a book of Civil War music purchased a long, long time ago, did I realize it was contained in there.

The song was written in 1865 by John Hugh McNaughton, and was sometimes known as "The Unnamed Grave." The lyrics touched me. I started thinking about how it might fit into a story, and came up with this.

If you want to hear the tune for "Faded Coat of Blue," go to / , click on "American Civil War Music." On that page, scroll down to 1865, and you'll find a midi link (under THE Faded Coat of Blue). (Many other songs are also available.)


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